


Goodnight Moon

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, F/F, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Unrequited Love, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>and goodnight you.</em>
</p><p>You've always been this sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyric in the description are from "Goodnight Moon" by Go Radio.

You click the lock on the door even though it’s only you here.

_dont do this_

There are boxes and boxes of various alcohols, from wine to champagne to beer. You rummage through a few of them, backpedaling in disgust when you find things that are colors that drinks should not be. “Pick your poison,” you murmur bitterly, bringing the already half-empty bottle of vodka to your lips and taking a swig.

_u were doing so good_

You settle on a bottle of wine and three cans of beer. Any normal girl of your age and weight would go into a coma if they drank that much, but not you. You’ve done this before, and you’ve recovered from it, too - but you never lose tolerance like that. It’s something you never forget, like the words to your favorite song or how to walk.

There’s much more than just a sip of vodka left, but you’re feeling bold tonight. You tilt your head back and chug the rest, reveling in the burn it leaves in the back of your throat and the way it makes you feel warm and fuzzy, from your head to your toes. You perch yourself on the windowsill and stare into the trees, watching the way they shift in the breeze.

_theyre free_

You aren’t.

You pop the wine open and down more than you should be able to hold. Instead of vomiting it back up it plummets into your stomach and mixes with the vodka, and you try to imagine what the two would look like mixed; clear with a burst of purple.

It takes five more gulps before you remember the reason you’re drinking again.

_jane_

But you can’t really blame Jane, can you?

It isn’t her fault that she doesn’t love you back. It isn’t her fault that she doesn’t talk about you the way Dirk talks about Jake, like he’s the only thing that matters in the world. Because you aren’t the only thing that matters to Jane; she has her dad and all of you and an important future as the Heiress to Crockercorp. You aren’t her top priority.

_but shes urs_

You drink some more wine. It doesn’t leave a burn, like vodka does; it leaves a faint taste of grape in the back of your throat and a tingle on your lips. You wonder if Jane would taste as good as it does - maybe she would taste like cake or icing, perfectly sweet. Your phone buzzes from somewhere across the room, but you opt to ignore it. It’s probably Dirk, and you don’t want to talk with him right now. He can wait.

You dig the pills out of your pocket and set them down in front of you, staring at them. You’d found them a few days ago, stashed away beneath a pile of old clothes. They resemble pain pills, but you aren’t sure what pain they take care of.

_maybe theyll take care of the pain in ur heart_

It isn’t Jane’s fault you’re this sad, not really.

You’ve always been this sad.

After all, you live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Your only friends are two kids from the past and one who lives thousands of miles away from you, and you love them all, you really do, but it isn’t enough. You want your mother. You want to meet her, you want to shop and eat and laugh and joke with her. You want to be taken care of like a baby.

_ur sixteen now thats pitiful_

Jane will never love you back, and you’re okay with that.

You really are.

_thats a lie_

You pop the pills open and down them all at once, washing them down with the three cans of beer. You try to imagine what it all looks like in your stomach, a swirling mess of purple and brown and clear and tiny white floating pills. Or maybe they disintegrated, who are you to tell?

Now you start to feel like a drunk person should. Your head pounds against your skull. You lean to your side and vomit out the contents of your stomach, and it looks just as you’d thought it would. Clear and purple and brown with tiny white floating pills. You’re breaking a sweat like you just ran a marathon, and you have stomach cramps and your muscles feel weak, so weak, and you can’t move from where you’re propped against the wall.

You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have your mother. A mother who loves you and raises you from a baby. A world where you live in the same time period as Jane, where you get to see her in person every day and she loves you back and she kisses you and holds you and the two of you talk about everything and nothing at all.

“Love you, Janey,” you mutter quietly.

You die with her name on your lips.

GG: Roxy?

GG: DStri says he can’t get a hold of you, are you alright?

GG: Rox?

GG: Roxy!

GG: Jake says you haven’t replied to him either.

GG: Roxy, please!

GG: I

GG: I love you.

GG: Please.

GG: Please tell me you’re okay. 


End file.
